


The Right Dance

by WritingEmi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dancing, Dorian Being Dorian, Dorian Pavus Feels, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, No one is jealous, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-14 15:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13010835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/pseuds/WritingEmi
Summary: Dorian is vexed that the Iron Bull is neglecting him at the Winter Palace and he believes Bull owes him at least the indulgence of a dance.Or, Dorian really wants to ask Bull to dance, but can't quite manage it.





	The Right Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuditoryCheesecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/gifts).



> A very happy holiday season to AuditoryCheesecake! I hope this fulfills your wish for a dance at the Winter Palace.

Dorian could not help but feel slighted by the Iron Bull. While Dorian stood outside in the floral perfumed gardens of the Winter Palace with only a glass of spicy punch to keep him company, he could clearly see Bull through the window. Bull was standing guard by one of the tables laden with food inside the guest wing and was busy smiling far too much at a pretty, red-haired elven servant with porcelain skin. Not that Dorian had any real claim on the Iron Bull as fantastic sex did not make a relationship, but there was a real affront when Bull was flirting with a mere servant when Dorian was readily available for such attentions.

It wasn’t jealous that sliced through him, Dorian firmly told himself, but rather the principle of it all that annoyed him. If Bull wanted to flatter someone, he had no better inspiration than Dorian. Instead Bull was apparently content to flirt with servants as Dorian silently fumed into his wine glass and endured the sneers of Orlesian nobility. 

There was no hardship on Dorian to be exposed to all the finery of the ball, but Dorian found himself in want of greater entertainment as hardly anyone would speak to him. Not that he wanted to speak to Orlesian nobles, but Dorian did delight in mocking them. That only made the Iron Bull’s abandonment sting all the worse and it was truly thoughtless of Bull, Dorian decided as he gulped down his spicy punch. Not that Dorian would go to the Bull, he knew better than to look needy.

Not far from where he stood, the bard sang prettily in the garden while strumming her instrument and Dorian saw more than one pair swaying together in almost loving embraces to the bard’s song. He sniffed at the pairs, as did others, but there was a swift stab of envy in his chest that he was keen to immediately brush aside. It did remind him though that inside the ballroom there was real dancing going on and Dorian did love a good dance.

Naturally, Dorian was a superb dancer. His mother hired the best instructors in the Imperium to teach him and he spent countless evenings in Tevinter dancing with many fine young ladies. But, despite being unafraid of causing scandal, Dorian never dared to dance with another man. Even as Cole wistfully told Dorian that Rilienus would have said yes, stirring memories of staring at Rilienus from across the dancefloor, and how Dorian later despaired over missed opportunities, he knew it could have never happened. Not in Tevinter.

The south was different though. Very different.

He glanced back over to the window and could see the Iron Bull starting to move from his post by the buffet table. Anticipation swelled within Dorian and he wondered if Bull could be persuaded into a quick waltz. It was the very least that Bull could do for ignoring Dorian so cruelly.

A Tevinter mage and a Tal-Vashoth mercenary dancing together might cause a scene, but with an assassin lurking about, Dorian knew it would be better to dance with someone he was fairly sure wasn’t plotting to kill the Empress. And Cullen, the only other viable option, was far too busy sulking. Dorian’s desire to dance with Bull had absolutely nothing to do with the fine figure the Iron Bull cut in his dress uniform, it just made the most sense.

Just as Bull stepped outside, Dorian remembered that he was supposed to be insulted by Bull’s inattentiveness and he puffed up with as much haughtiness as he could muster. Bull crossed the garden, approaching Dorian with a small, delicate china plate with ham, cheese, and little pastries stuffed with mushrooms in hand. 

A witty barb about the Bull’s neglect was on the tip of Dorian’s tongue, but then the great brute spoiled it by holding out the plate to him and saying, “I thought you might be hungry.”

All of the righteous indignity deflated right out of Dorian. “Oh,” the word dropped from Dorian’s mouth.

“You didn’t eat anything this afternoon and I haven’t seen you eat anything here. Can’t fight assassins on an empty stomach,” Bull insisted.

“Oh,” Dorian repeated, feeling irrationally satisfied at Bull’s apparent concern. “Actually, I’m glad you came over here and it has nothing to do with food.”

Bull seemed to perk up. “Oh yeah?”

“Dorian!” Lavellan interrupted in a hiss, scampering over towards them after climbing down from the garden lattice of all things and her brilliant green eyes were bright with a happy twinkle in them. “Dorian, thank the gods that we finally have something to do at this blighted party! Get your gear and meet me by the servants’ quarters! Tell the Bull,” she didn’t seem to notice her mercenary bodyguard in her excitement, “I’m going to find Sera.”

Bull blinked as Lavellan dashed towards the guest wing. “What was that all about?”

“From the glee in our dear Inquisitor’s eyes, I have a feeling we’re going to kill some people.”

“Good, this party was getting boring.” Bull continued to hold the plate out to Dorian and his smile was almost sheepish. “You’ve still got time for a snack.”

The offering of food was oddly touching and Bull looked greatly pleased when Dorian took the plate. “I suppose I should eat something to soak up all of the alcohol in my stomach,” Dorian conceded. “It’d be rather unfortunate if I was too inebriated to fight my idiot countrymen.”

The evening became considerably more exciting as they scurried around the palace, killed Venatori, unearthed elven lockets and halla statuettes, and saved Fereldan mercenaries. It all built up to Lavellan unraveling the plot against the Empress and revealing Grand Duchess Florianne’s hand in it all in front of the court like a veteran player of the Game. Dorian relished the shocked expressions of the court under their gauche masks, especially as a Dalish elf single handedly saved the Orlesian Empire without a full out slaughter in the ballroom.

After listening to Lavellan give her few inspirational words to the Orlesian court alongside the reunited Celene and Briala, Dorian watched wistfully as couples flooded the dancefloor below and the musicians struck up a celebratory tune that filled the hall. Turning to the Iron Bull, who was already looking distracted, Dorian decided to seize his attention before Bull wandered off to find the first willing servant or buffet table in his path.

“Now that we’ve saved the Empress’s life, perhaps we should move onto more pleasurable things?” Dorian slid his eyes down towards the dancefloor.

A slow grin spread on Bull’s face as he completely misunderstood Dorian’s meaning. “I think the library was still empty.”

Honestly, Dorian couldn’t blame Bull for his desires and misunderstanding. Even in the awful red uniform Josephine picked out, Dorian did look exceptionally well that night and he was sure that he was more than Bull could resist. Bull also looked above average that evening, though Dorian didn’t breathe a word of it.

It wasn’t long before Dorian was pressed face down upon on of the library tables, his jacket and sash discarded haplessly on a chair and his undershirt scrunched up to his armpits with his pants and smalls were pushed to his knees. The position didn't give Dorian much of a view, though if he craned his neck in just the right way, he could catch the Bull’s faint reflection in the window. He could see just the outline of wide horns and the vibrancy of red from the uniform jacket from where Bull stood behind him.

Large hands gripped Dorian’s hips, lifting them up and forcing Dorian onto the toes of his well shined boots. His fingers clawed at the sides of the table, trying to give him some leverage as the Bull was busily thrusting his cock into Dorian. There wasn’t much that he could do though and was forced to take whatever Bull gave him, not that Dorian minded terribly. The scratch of velvet on Dorian’s skin and the knowledge that Bull was still mostly dressed turned Dorian on more than he was willing to admit.

While Bull usually enjoyed taking his sweet time to take Dorian apart when they were in his room at Skyhold, this time lacked the usual build up. Their coupling was hard and fast, reminiscent of Dorian’s old trysts back in Tevinter during stolen moments in darkened corners and locked rooms, but not in a bad way. There was a familiar sense of urgency and the risk of discovery, without consequence this time at least, that heightened Dorian’s arousal. There was no delicious teasing or long foreplay, just precise thrusts against Dorian’s prostate with an efficiency that Dorian and his hard, leaking cock could appreciate. 

“Bull,” he gasped out, edging closer towards his orgasm, but not quite reaching it. “Bull, please.”

Instead of torturing Dorian or making him beg more, as Bull often did, Bull happily complied and soon fingers were firmly wrapped around Dorian’s erection, stroking Dorian with the same efficiency he was pounding into him with. Pressing his lips tightly together, Dorian let out low whine as he spilled over Bull’s fingers and onto the priceless antique table he was laying on. Bull quickened his pace as Dorian clenched around him and came swiftly after several hurried thrusts.

“Ah fuck, that was good,” Bull slapped Dorian’s ass as he pulled out. “Needed that after all of that political bullshit.”

“Do have a care,” Dorian growled at the slap. He caught his bottom lip with sharp teeth as Bull gently rubbed away the sting and went through the motions of cleaning Dorian up with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. Despite his grumbles, Dorian was glad to see that Bull was still attentive in his aftercare even outside of the bedroom.

He hissed as the cloth grazed sensitive skin and a light kiss was brushed against the back of Dorian’s neck in quiet apology. “Didn’t bring any of that elfroot balm with me. Sorry, shouldn’t have been so rough.”

Dorian let out a breathy laugh at Bull’s anxiety. “Hardly. I could have taken more.”

“I know you can, big guy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna take care of you.” Teeth nibbled on the shell of Dorian’s ear and Bull gave his bottom a careful squeeze, sending a shiver that climbed up Dorian’s spine and making his toes curl in his boots.

Bull straightened up and buttoned up his pants as Dorian got up and pulled his clothes back on as well as he could without the help of a mirror. With his clothes back on, Dorian took a moment to appreciate the sight of the Iron Bull dressed up for once.

As much as Dorian hated his formal uniform with its overly loud red velvet and sneered at its gaudiness, he had to admit that the Iron Bull looked rather handsome in it. The bold red was striking against the Bull’s grey skin and brightened his pale blue eye. The fabric of the jacket stretched deliciously across his chest and shoulders, emphasizing their broadness and muscle, while the deep blue sash hid the fat of Bull’s belly. The Iron Bull looked the part of a dashing military commander on par with Cullen, ready to lead an army on the Inquisitor’s behalf.

For that, Dorian could almost forgive Josephine and her dreaded selection in uniforms. Almost.

A brief thought fluttered through Dorian’s mind, not just the urge to dance, but a singular wish to know what it might be like for Bull, in his uniform, to sweep Dorian up in his arms and to lead him in a waltz. To be seen and noticed by everyone. The longing was strong enough that the question was formed on Dorian’s tongue, but it never made it past his lips.

But Dorian knew that the Bull bragging about bedding him was one thing and to be seen dancing was completely different thing. It spoke of something deeper than just the pleasures found between the sheets. Dorian suddenly lost the courage to bring it up.

“Are my smalls sticking out or something?” Bull asked as he adjusted his pants, having caught Dorian’s stare.

Letting out a chuckle that was more nervous than jovial, Dorian pressed his hands to Bull’s chest, smoothing out the fabric and ignored the way his heart skipped a beat. “You are as presentable as you can get,” he announced. “Now, how do I look?”

“Blissfully fucked out.”

“Right now,” Dorian huffed, “I am going to find a powder room. I should only be a minute.”

Bull rolled his eye. “I’m pretty sure whenever you say that, you always take at least half an hour.”

“Perfection takes time.”

“Don’t be mad if I don’t wait around for you if you take forever.”

Strolling out of the library, with none the wiser that they had been missing at all, Dorian spotted an unoccupied powder room and excused himself to freshen up. Before ducking into the room, Dorian lingered in the doorway and turned to Bull.

“When I am finished, I have something to ask of you,” Dorian declared suddenly. Surely by the time he was presentable, Dorian would be prepared to persuade the Bull into the great ballroom and demand repayment for early injuries from his neglect.

Lifting his eyebrow, Bull shrugged. “Sure thing, big guy.”

Satisfied, Dorian entered the little room and locked the door behind of him. The small room was outfitted with a large, gold framed mirror, a silver wash basin and a crystal pitcher of water, and a white marble countertop with a variety of exotic cosmetics and soaps available to guests. The extravagance for such a tiny room was quite fitting for the Winter Palace. 

Dorian peered into the mirror on the wall and groaned at the state of his appearance, fixing his uniform before moving onto checking his hair. Earlier, Bull ran his thick fingers through Dorian’s hair when they made out against a bookcase, nearly destroying Dorian’s hairstyle.

“Maker help me, I look almost as wild as Blackwall,” Dorian lamented to himself as he tamed the out of place locks of hair. “Well, almost perfect. Now, let’s see if the Bull might fancy a dance.”

Hurriedly washing and then checking himself over again to make sure not a single piece of clothing was out of place, Dorian noted with pride that he couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes. Walking out of the powder room, Dorian scanned the sparsely occupied ornate hallway around him. His heart dropped immediately and disappointment left a bitter taste in his mouth. The Iron Bull was nowhere in sight.

“Probably lured away by the dessert table or that red-haired servant,” Dorian muttered with simmering heat under his breath.

Swallowing down his bitterness, Dorian was resolute not to be completely put out. He would definitely tell the Iron Bull precisely how he felt about his abandonment later on with ice and sarcasm, but for now, Dorian was determined to carry on. Holding his head up high, Dorian strode down the hallway, picking up a glass of spiced wine from a servant, and made his way into the ballroom. 

Passing by one of the balconies, Dorian caught an eyeful of Lavellan being turned in Cullen’s arms as their feet shuffled together in a tired dance. Lavellan’s head cradled on Cullen’s shoulder with her eyes closed, exhaustion of the night had caught up with her, but a small smile was curled on her lips. And Cullen, for the first time since they entered Halamshiral, looked like he was actually happy.

There were few people in Skyhold that Dorian would have thought worthy of the Inquisitor’s attentions, but Cullen was certainly one of them. With Cullen’s obvious affection for Lavellan, his adorable stumbling and stuttering through his emotions, and honorable nature, Dorian thought there could be no better knight in shining armor for the Inquisitor. They were a handsome pair, worthy of any sugary Fereldan fairy tale.

Dorian’s throat felt unbearably tight at the sight of them and he purposefully kept on walking.

Finding a spot along the railing above the dancefloor, Dorian leaned forward and watched the swirling pairs of dancers below, moving along to the light and airy Orlesian waltz that filled the hall. He quickly noticed a pair of women dancing together and from the way they held each other, they were more to each other than mere acquaintances. It didn’t surprise Dorian to see the women together, but he did think ruefully upon how charming southern Thedas really could be.

Drumming his fingers against the railing, Dorian wondered where the Iron Bull had gotten off to.

“Lord Dorian! Why are you not dancing?”

Turning his head, Dorian found himself looking at a young, handsome Antivan man in a silver Orlesian mask covering the upper half of his face that framed dark, stunning eyes. It took Dorian a moment before he remembered the young man’s name. He was Antoine Montilyet, Josephine’s younger brother, who escorted another Montilyet sibling, Yvette, to the ball. They were briefly introduced during the beginning of the evening, but the young man was hasty to disappear into the crowd to avoid his older sister and her pressing questions.

A thin smile spread on Dorian’s face as he replied lightly, “I seem to find myself without a partner, Lord Antoine, but we cannot account for the tastes of Orlesians, can we?”

“Indeed, we cannot, Lord Dorian. But it is such a pity that you do not have a beau to take you out onto the dancefloor.”

Dorian managed not to flush at the implication that he was without a lover. “Who is to say that I do not? Do you believe that I would bring him to the Winter Palace while I was hunting an assassin? Not mention exposing him to all these tacky masks? Present company excluded, of course.”

Josephine’s younger brother did not take offense and laughed merrily. “You have got me there, Lord Dorian. Either way, it is all the better for me.” 

“Is that so?”

“It is, for now I may admire you without fear of a jealous lover confronting me.”

After a long night of enduring the wrinkled noses of Orlesian nobility, chasing Venatori, and Bull’s disappearing act, Dorian was ready for some flattery. Antoine was a handsome man and he could not be of poor character considering his family, there could be no harm in letting Dorian’s vanity be gratified.

“I never knew that Antivans had such superior tastes, my lord.”

Pink lips spread in a satisfied smile at Dorian’s response. “It is not so much a matter of taste, Lord Dorian, than it is just having a pair of eyes.”

The music tapered off around them, signaling the end of the current dance. 

“I simply cannot abide seeing a beautiful man in want of a dance partner, especially one who was so instrumental in saving the Empire.” Antoine gracefully bowed and held out his hand to Dorian. “If I may be so bold, Lord Dorian?”

There was a few seconds of hesitation, a quick scan of the room and searching for a familiar set of horns, but none were in sight and Dorian didn’t know when he’d get the chance to dance publicly with another man.

Placing his hand into Antoine’s, Dorian answered amiably, “Who am I to refuse such an offer from the upstanding brother of the Inquisition’s much beloved ambassador?”

“I hope this is not the only offer of mine you choose not to refuse tonight.”

“Now you are being bold, Lord Antoine.” 

Dorian made no other comment towards the hinted at proposition. He had no promises with the Bull, but Dorian did hope to end the night with Bull in his bed and he would prefer not to burn any goodwill he held with Josephine by sleeping with her younger brother. Josephine was truly the main force of his disinterest of Antoine, Dorian said firmly to himself, and it had little to do with the Iron Bull.

The young lord only grinned and escorted Dorian down to the dancefloor in time for the next song to strike up. It was another fast waltz, one that Dorian knew by heart and his feet moved automatically. His partner was also an exceptional dancer, not missing a single step as he led Dorian around the floor with self-assuredness, twirling Dorian skillfully amongst the pairs of dancers.

There was a brief bolt of exhilaration that shot through Dorian, the moment where a long desired wish came to fruition. He was thrilled to be dancing with another man so publicly for the first time without anyone batting an eye over it. But the novelty of it wore off quicker than Dorian anticipated and he found that dancing with Antoine was no more exciting than dancing with young ladies in Tevinter whom he had equal indifference to. It wasn’t long before Dorian began to look at the throng of people above them, continuously searching for a familiar silhouette.

“Is my company not enough to hold your attention, Lord Dorian?” Antoine asked teasingly as he spun Dorian. “Or are you searching for more assassins?”

“I suppose I am being rather cautious, but can you blame me after the night I’ve had?” Dorian fibbed. “And now that we’ve cleared out the Venatori, we are left with only Orlesians and I cannot decide if that makes us safer or not.”

Antoine’s laugh was low and amused. “Don’t concern yourself with them, I shall protect you from devious Orlesians.”

Fixing his gaze back onto his partner, Dorian managed a halfhearted chuckle. “Very well, Lord Antoine, I will put my safety into your hands.”

“I hope that is not the only thing that ends up in your hands tonight.”

“If your manners are anything to go by, Lord Antoine, I believe you should be less concerned with my hands and think about how you’ll occupy your own,” Dorian replied stiffly, utterly unimpressed by the blatant come on.

But Antoine only laughed again, “You do enjoy playing hard to get.”

“Believe me, my lord, I never play.”

While it was only a short time ago when Dorian was pleased by Antoine’s attention, he was now annoyed by it. Dorian determined that Josephine’s younger brother not as good looking as he previously thought, his cologne made Dorian wrinkle his nose, and while he danced well, Antoine’s movements held no passion. To make things worse, Antoine’s presumption lacked any charm and only served to grate upon Dorian’s nerves. He would have words with Josephine, Dorian decided, and he would advise her to counsel her brother about the coarseness of his manners.

Relief washed over Dorian once the music finally died down. Completely underwhelmed by the experience, Dorian was ready to call an Inquisition carriage and go back to the rooms that were rented for them in the city. But before Dorian could excuse himself, Antoine bowed and asked, “Another dance, Lord Dorian? Or shall we move onto something more … private.”

There was no time for Dorian to make excuses or dramatically turn down his would-be suitor as a great shadow was cast over both of them and suddenly Antoine disappeared behind a solid wall of red velvet. 

“Thanks for warming him up, pal,” the Bull chirped in an all too cheerful tone, not once looking at Antoine as his single eye was fixed on Dorian. “I’ll take the next dance.”

The music struck up again, drowning out Antoine’s sputtering outrage, and Bull seized Dorian up in his arms. A flush consumed Dorian’s face and he was immediately filled with pleasure as they started to move along to the song.

“Been wanting to do this since we got here,” Bull confessed, his arm securely around Dorian’s waist and the fingers of his right hand were intertwined with Dorian’s. 

Dorian’s breath hitched just the slightest bit and the insufferable smirk on Bull’s face told him it did not go unnoticed, but Dorian was not one to let go of previous offenses. “Then you shouldn’t have run off the moment you were able to.”

“Hey, I thought you were going to take a lot longer getting freshened up,” Bull protested. “I just wanted to go get some more of those little cakes, but you were gone when I got back and I was only gone for a few minutes. I’ve been looking for you this entire time.”

With his ruffled feathers smoothed over, Dorian’s lips curled in a smile. “Well, you’ve found me now.”

“Yeah, I did,” Bull replied happily, before adding, “and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to stand there and watch you dance with some frilly noble brat all night.”

There was real emotion behind those words and Bull swung his head around to glare at Antoine, who was making a fuss until he caught sight of Bull’s glowering face and hurried away. Never one to share attention, Dorian touched Bull’s cheek and turned his head back towards him.

“Ignore him. I’m who you should be looking at.” 

The Bull gladly obeyed and his expression was painfully affectionate. “You definitely are.”

Dorian’s cheeks continued to burn and his heart was light with satisfaction. “Though before you do or say anything rash, do know that frilly noble brat I was dancing with was Josephine’s younger brother.”

“Sorry, then I meant to say, some frilly Antivan noble brat.”

A real laugh shook Dorian and a grin spread easily upon his face. “Frilly nobleman or not, I am much more satisfied with my present partner.”

Bull returned the grin. “Good.”

It quickly became apparent to Dorian, that the Iron Bull, for as intelligent and surprising as he tended to be, was not a brilliant dancer. His steps were stilted, he did not keep very good time with the tempo of the song, and he stepped on Dorian’s foot on more than occasion. The only saving grace was that the Bull carried it well and with confidence, the serene expression of his face never faltering along with his steps. 

But by the third time Bull scuffed Dorian’s boots, Dorian decided that he had enough. “Maker’s breath, Bull, let me lead.”

“I’m doing fine,” Bull protested, his brow furrowed in concentration as he spun Dorian and just barely managing not to twirl Dorian straight into another dancer on the floor.

“You’ll need to carry me for the rest of the dance if you step on my foot again.”

“Fine, fine, have it your way.” But the corners of Bull’s mouth twitched upward, revealing his amusement.

Dorian sighed with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and adjusted his grip on Bull as he took charge mid dance, easing their path across the floor. Thankfully, Bull caught on quickly as he followed Dorian’s lead and Dorian no longer had to worry about the state of his toes and could concentrate on enjoying himself fully. And enjoy himself he did. 

From the corner of his eye, Dorian caught the crowd above watching them, including a few in matching red uniforms. There were whispers of speculation over their attachment, for sure, but Dorian knew it was out of curiosity and not scandal. With that knowledge, Dorian’s steps felt lighter than ever and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Bull’s face. The feel of Bull’s body close to his own made his heart thud in not an unpleasant way and the excitement that overtook him when Bull held his hand had yet to fade. And while he knew that Bull would tease him for it later, Dorian could not keep the smile off of his lips.

_Amatus._

The endearment popped up intrusively in Dorian’s mind and he was quick to push it away, though it left a lingering echo of fondness and wants that found its way into his heart. He ignored it for the moment and stored it away to be dealt with later. Dorian was too occupied in his dance and his partner to think of such things.

Their performance improved with each step and Dorian fancied that after a few more turns, the Iron Bull would become a half decent dancer. The only thing missing was that Dorian didn’t dare try to spin the Bull under his arm, their height difference and the width of Bull’s horns made it an impossible feat. But Dorian was determined to dip Bull at the end of the dance.

There was an actual applause and more than a few gasps when Dorian did eventually dip the Iron Bull. Dorian assumed that the crowd was probably impressed by the strength of his limbs as he steadily held Bull, along with the sheer flexibility of Bull’s back as he arched in Dorian’s arms and the tips of his horns touched the floor. With grace a man his size shouldn’t have, the Iron Bull straightened back up in one fluid movement and bowed to Dorian like a gentleman.

“Another dance?” Dorian asked, holding out his hand to Bull and hope rising up his chest.

Bull placed his hand in Dorian’s. “As many as you want, kadan, I can go all night.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow at the unfamiliar pet name, but the half formed question in his mind evaporated as the music started again. Then the Iron Bull stepped back into Dorian’s waiting arms, fitting snugly against Dorian’s body like he belonged there.

-

By the time they left the Winter Palace, Dorian was able to watch the sun rise through the carriage window from the comfort of the Iron Bull’s arms. His feet and knees ached, exhaustion sank into his bones, and his eyelids were heavy, but Dorian was perfectly content and couldn’t remember the last time he had so thoroughly enjoyed a ball. There was scheming, backstabbing, the fate of an empire and the world in the balance, and exceptional dancing, all the makings of a truly extraordinary night.

Dorian and Bull had danced nearly every dance once they started and breaking only for the occasional drink of wine to wet their palate before going back onto the dancefloor. Anyone who tried to cut in was viciously blocked and even the Inquisitor was denied a dance with Dorian. 

Despite all of his perceived offenses from earlier in the night, the Iron Bull proved to be the best partner Dorian ever had the pleasure to dance with.

The carriage finally stopped in front of the city apartments the Inquisition was renting during their stay at Halamshiral, though Dorian wasn’t quite ready for things to end just then. Dorian peeled himself off of the cushioned bench with no little effort and his knees protested as he jumped out of the carriage. From the slow way the Iron Bull moved, Dorian could tell that he was no less affected, but the perpetual smile on his face spoke of no regrets.

“I must thank you for indulging me for so long,” Dorian said as they stepped inside and headed straight to their rooms. “I do admit that you are a rather fine dance partner.”

“It wasn’t a problem, I told you that I wanted to dance,” Bull shrugged easily. “Besides, I said that I could go all night.”

Dorian lowered his tone into a lustful rasp, “That is true and I was rather hoping that you might be able to go into the morning as well.”

This time the Bull fully understood Dorian’s meaning. “We’ve got nowhere to be today and I want to see if I can break that fancy bed.”

In inviting the Bull back to his room, Dorian meant to reward Bull for dancing with him. However, Dorian quickly realized that he was too tired to even make much of a show of removing his clothes. The moment Dorian left his dreaded uniform in a pool of red velvet on the floor and laid back in the plush bed, his entire body cried with relief and the heaviness of his eyelids became almost unbearable. 

“Doing ok there?” Bull asked with a soft laugh as he started stripping off his own uniform. 

Bright red lacy smalls with ribbons against grey skin were revealed when Bull dropped his pants and Dorian knew he should make some comment on them, either in appreciation or outrage. All he did was make some incomprehensible mumbling noise and he thought he managed to raise an eyebrow, though he wasn’t sure.

“Just let me rest my eyes for a few minutes and then I expect to be thoroughly ravished,” Dorian managed to say as his eyes were closing. He was well aware that he was the one to invite Bull into his room and Dorian expected himself to deliver on his offer. As soon as he closed his eyes for a little while.

“Mm-hm,” Bull hummed casually as his laid down next to Dorian and bubbling with humored disbelief, “sure thing, big guy.”

Pressing himself against Bull’s side to soak up all of Bull’s wonderful heat and pillowing his head on a broad shoulder, Dorian promised in a sleep slurred voice, “In a couple of minutes, I’m going to give you the best blow job of your life.”

Bull chuckled, his own voice a mixture of contentment and tiredness as he pulled the blankets over them and wrapped his arms around Dorian. A kiss was pressed into Dorian’s hair and Bull rumbled softly, “I look forward to it, kadan.”

Dorian just nodded against Bull’s shoulder, dozing off in the warmth of Bull’s embrace, and as he slipped off into sleep, Dorian reminded himself to ask Bull what the word kadan meant.


End file.
